My Favorite Martian
J. Kevin Tumlinson

Maybe it's because I grew up in the “Star Trek” era, but in the past few years I seem to have become jaded towards the idea of space exploration. I pretty much take it as a given that there are more planets out there than this ol' Earth, and that humanity will one day be out there, floating from star to star. It doesn't seem inspiring at all, really. But then something happens – for example the Mars exploring “Spirit” touching down on the Red Planet's surface – that makes me sit back and stare, and that feeling of awe comes rushing back to me.

I used to want to be an astronaut. Well, not an astronaut, exactly. I really just wanted to be in space. I didn't care about running experiments or learning complex controls or maintaining sophisticated equipment. What I cared about was floating, flying free and unfettered, as if I'd suddenly gained super powers. I would be able to lift several times my body weight, which if you think about it is just plain cool.

And of course there were the aliens. There always must be aliens. Aliens to befriend, aliens to fight, aliens to fear – there are all kinds.

At some point, though, it began to occur to me how strange and wonderful and exciting the whole prospect was – especially since the first roving probes began sending back images of Mars. How incredible would it be, to stand on a planet that wasn't Earth? We take for granted the concept of isolation. We can be isolated in our own homes, we think. But imagine, for just a moment, standing in a place where there is not another living, breathing creature for not hundreds, not thousands but MILLIONS of miles.

Is there any place on earth that you can't get to in less than a day? Maybe two days at the most? With air travel and improved roads and highways and better cars and trucks, we can be just about anywhere on earth at any given time. But if you were to stand on Mars and look earth-ward, you'd see a dot, no larger than a freckle from your perspective. You'd be months away from home, if you were lucky enough to even survive the journey.

So recently the awe of space travel has been reborn in me. I think it all came home to me when I saw the first pictures of that rocky, red-tinged landscape that stretched from horizon to horizon with no sign of life. To think of something man-made roaming on the surface of another planet, it brings chills to me. What will it find? Signs of life? Trace evidence of the origins of our solar system? Or maybe just more rocks, more red soil, and not much more?

In the 1950's, the idea of space travel was science fiction, and yet there was no more exciting concept. People looked up into the heavens and dreamt of a day when the typical morning consisted of floating to the garage, firing up the ol' rocket ship, and flying to distant parts of the galaxy to see our new alien friends. Fifty years later and we're still looking to the heavens, but what are we seeing? We're not nearly as excited as we once were, or should be. The child-like thrill has gone out of the stars. Our view is blocked by television satellites and reruns of “Star Trek.”

So maybe that's why missions like this, to explore Mars via remote control, are really so important. They're the first tentative steps towards the future, but are just as much a full-fledged dive back into the past. I for one will sit breathlessly in front of my computer screen, connected to millions of others across an invisible web of interconnectivity, and watch as a man-made object casually strolls around the surface of a distant planet, snapping pictures like a tourist on vacation. I can't wait to go myself.